tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63038596697603576732017-06-04T23:23:31.196-04:00Snippets of Sunseta little bit of my worldmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523685844668458529noreply@blogger.comBlogger77125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303859669760357673.post-24793519398904103562014-06-30T23:52:00.000-04:002014-06-30T23:55:53.867-04:00a little too much<br />
<br />
<i>a little too much</i><br />
<i>today was a little too much for me</i><br />
<i>a few falls too many&nbsp;</i><br />
<i>and one win too few</i><br />
<br />
That's how it felt today. Too much, no wins. Plans changed, grumpy teething girly requires attention and holding, which means not everything gets done. I know I have a problem dealing with unmet&nbsp; expectations, but every time I thing I'm becoming more flexible, it is tested, and I end up breaking. I'm obviously not there yet.<br />
<br />
<i>a little too long</i><br />
<i>today was a little too long for me</i><br />
<i>but someone is calling</i><br />
<i>calling my name</i><br />
<br />
&nbsp;Too long. In need of rest; the physical kind, or so I thought. As I sit here waiting for a the load of wash to finish, the husband in bed, and the little girl finally fast asleep; I discover maybe its not just physical rest I'm in need of.<br />
<br />
<i>calling</i><br />
<br />
<i>come, come and rest</i><br />
<i>all who are weary rest,&nbsp;</i><br />
<i>come, come and rest</i><br />
<i>all who are heavy rest,&nbsp;</i><br />
<i>rest</i><br />
<br />
Its so much more than the bone-weariness of the day. <br />
Today at work, we were talking about loss. And how it's not that one persons loss is harder, bigger, or more important than another. Loss is loss. Loss is hard. Loss is pain. Loss is grieved, no matter what kind of loss it is. There is no need to compare, no need to diminish. The truth is, loss is part of this life. Doesn't make it any easier. <br />
<br />
<b>The fact is</b> <br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <b>we were not made for this world of loss.&nbsp;</b><br />
<br />
And most losses in my life, have served to either draw me to rest in God, or draw my heart towards longing for the place that I was<b><u></u></b> created for.<br />
To rest, sometimes feels so hard to do, but oh the sweet comfort, when I let it all go and truly rest.<br />
<br />
<i>sometimes i try</i><br />
<i>sometimes i try just a little to hard</i><br />
<i>fighting the currents and losing the fight</i><br />
<br />
Ever feel like your fighting for something so hard and aren't getting anywhere? Sometimes, its more about when you give up the fight, and let God take you<i> </i>in that current to the place He wants you to be. Its scary, it goes against my controlling, stubborn, never-back-down nature. But again its about resting in the One who created me. And trust.<br />
<br />
<b>Such a big deal to me. </b><br />
<b></b><br />
<b></b><br />
<b><br /></b>It's not so much that my story holds lots of instances of trust betrayed, however it's such a huge deal. Maybe it has more to do with pride than anything else. The whole "fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me" thing.<br />
<br />
<i>sometimes i feel</i><br />
<i>sometimes i feel like I'm swimming alone</i><br />
<i>but, someone is holding, holding me up</i><br />
<br />
But that's not an issue when it comes to resting in God, so why do I
still struggle? I know that He has my best in His heart, why is it so
much to fully rest?<br />
<br />
<i>calling</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>calling me softly and sweetly</i><br />
<i>calling me like I'm a child</i><br />
<i>calling me tho I'm not worthy</i><br />
<i>calling me even now</i><br />
<br />
&nbsp;He still pursues me, He still loves me. He patiently calls me, waiting for me to completely rest, completely let go and let Him handle it. To fully trust, To full rest.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>come, come and rest</i><br />
<i>all who are weary rest</i><br />
<i>come, come and rest</i><br />
<i>all who are heavy rest,</i><i>&nbsp;</i><br />
<i>rest</i><br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523685844668458529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303859669760357673.post-12076948726609012142014-03-31T00:53:00.003-04:002014-03-31T10:52:43.227-04:00Jennie's with JesusIts been awhile. Its not&nbsp; that I've not had anything to write about, its just that most times the posts get written in my mind and stop there.<br />
Not tonight.<br />
Sometimes, it needs to be written down. Sorted out Processed.<br />
<br />
This morning I almost didn't go to church. I had a rough night dealing with a migraine, and figured it would be beneficial to sleep off the remaining headache. About 10 minutes before it was time to leave, I decided to go along. I got my self together and off we went.<br />
It was a wet rainy morning. Day for that matter. As Olivia wriggled her way through church I tried to distract her by pointing out the rain making trails down the window.<br />
It worked momentarily, and for a bit distracted me too. There is a certain way that when rain makes trails down a window like that it always makes me feel like God is crying. As I looked out the window, I pondered what would be making God cry. My morning, although not the greatest, was going good.<br />
We left fairly soon after church. I still had a headache, and was ready to get home.<br />
On the way out, I got caught up talking to someone, and then one of the little girls, was talking to me. Smiling and talking to my overly tired little girl, her face lit by her thousand watt smile.<br />
Then we left.<br />
Tonight that little girl, and her thousand watt smile, is lighting up the streets as she dances with Jesus.<br />
As the tears fall, I know now. That's why God was crying this morning. That's why the rain is making trails down my window. As God looks over and sees Jenny dancing with Jesus, I believe he has tears in His eyes.<br />
Oh they're not for Jennie.<br />
They are for her family, who not only have physical pain to deal with right now, but the other kind that hurts so bad you can't decide where that stops and the physical pain starts.<br />
This evening, I'm at a loss.<br />
It doesn't make sense.<br />
It hurts<br />
It cant be sorted out, and right now, I cant process.<br />
All I know, is Jenny's with Jesus, her family is in pain, and God cried. <br />
<br />
Please pray for her family. Her sister and parents were also in the accident and in two different hospitals. Her brother and other sisters were at home. Pray for them all. For healing; physical and otherwise. mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523685844668458529noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303859669760357673.post-26531549928454447752013-05-06T23:16:00.000-04:002013-10-29T23:17:21.586-04:00More precious than yesterday...Today my little girl is 3 months, one day. That one day seems really
monumental for me right now. You see, last night we had a scare. Now I
know that all parents have scares. But I’m a first time parent, and this
was a scarier scare than we’ve had before.<br />
C was in bed sleeping, I had put her to bed as well. I was out
finishing up a few things before bed. It was late. I should have been in
bed sleeping, but I wasn’t. I checked on her, pulled the covers away
from her face and I crawled in my bed and snuggled down into the covers,
praying that she would sleep all night again. I hadn’t more than closed
my eyes, when I heard her making “not breathing sounds” like when you
get the breath knocked out of you.<br />
I flew out of bed, in the process waking up C, grabbed her out of her
bassinet, tried to wake &nbsp;her, blew in her face till she finally started
breathing again. Sleeping the whole time…when she woke up from us
exclaiming and turning on the light, she just looked at us like what are
you doing up? before snuggling in my arms and returning to sleep.<br />
As I lay there, alert to every move and noise she made, I kept running scenarios of what&nbsp;<em>could</em>
have happened. Had I been in bed sleeping, I most likely would not have
heard her. Worst cases, flashed through my mind, until it hit me.<br />
The things that&nbsp;<em><strong>could</strong>&nbsp;</em> have happened……….<strong>didn’t.</strong><br />
As I began thinking of the huge back story (extending back several
years) to why I went to bed when I did, I stood (ok lay) in awe of our
Abba Father, who loves and cares for us in all things. Even when the <em>could have&nbsp;happend’s;</em>&nbsp;do
happen. I began to realize how much I have already – at only 3 months-
begun to take her for granted. And I realized once again that she is
first the daughter of her Heavenly Papa, and then ours.<br />
Early this morning, as I fed her, and rocked her back to sleep, I
held her a little closer, and kissed her little head. She started with
her face splitting, ear moving smiles. Her eyes were closed and she was
asleep, but perhaps an angel was tickling her, ’cause God knew that was
just what this&nbsp;mamma&nbsp;needed this morning.<br />
So Is she more precious than yesterday? No not actually, my eyes have
simply been opened to just how precious a gift I hold in my arms. mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523685844668458529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303859669760357673.post-59862461956457538312013-03-05T16:19:00.003-05:002013-03-05T16:19:46.618-05:00Doing Dishes...Growing up, my Mom always washed the dishes after supper. We cleared the table, swept the floor, dried the dishes &amp; put them away. We alternated who did what, but Mom always washed the supper dishes. Perhaps it's because I never had to do them that much, or maybe because when I did have to do them it was most times Saturday and lots of mixing/baking dishes were added to it; regardless, washing dishes is one of my least favorite jobs. I can enjoy laundry, and dusting/sweeping, but washing dishes is another thing completely.<br />
Today, as my little girl slept in the other room, I filled my dishpan with water, added some soap, and plunged my hands into the warmth &amp; bubbles, and smiled. There was something deeply satisfying about washing dishes today. There I was, just me some soapy bubbles and the dirty dishes. I sighed one of those deep cleansing sighs, and thought "What's so bad about doing dishes?"<br />
The past few days, my little girl has been pretty much "mommy needs to hold me all the time". I love holding her, staring into her little blue eyes, and talking to her. However, my family is soon going to put me on the show Hoarders if my house keeps looking like this. So to be able to lay her down while she slept, and do dishes, it was a welcome respite.<br />
Maybe that is why my mom always washed the dishes? Don't know, perhaps I'll ask her.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taking a nap on my doll bunk bed. My dad gave <br />this to me for one of my birthdays back in the&nbsp;day. <br />I'd love to use it to take pictures of twins someday. <br />As long as the twins belong to someone other than me!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
She is 4 weeks old today. It's crazy. I'm hoping time slows down at some point. I feel like the days are speeding by. She is growing like a weed. Rolling from her back to her belly, ( dont most babies wait a while to do that?) talking to us, and completely wrapping herself around our hearts.mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523685844668458529noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303859669760357673.post-11699725615167689212013-02-06T12:30:00.000-05:002013-02-06T12:30:01.708-05:00I'm a new personMy life has changed forever.<br />
From my third story perch, I watched this morning as the sun tried desperately to push away the clouds &amp; fog of night.<br />
It's not the first time I saw a sunrise. It's not the first time that the darkness slowly gave way to day. But it was a first for me.<br />
I'm not the same as the last time I watched the sun rise.<br />
I'm not alone. <br />
Nestled in the crook of my arm is this little tiny being that has bewitched me. She has completely stolen my heart. She has changed me. She has made me a mom.&nbsp; <br />
Her name is Olivia Kate.<br />
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<br />mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523685844668458529noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303859669760357673.post-50278833042628257132012-09-07T17:31:00.000-04:002012-11-12T17:31:54.543-05:00Fleeting Moments on Main StreetIt's been a crazy summer..<br />
Crazy meaning whirlwind of events.<br />
Crazy meaning out of the ordinary.<br />
Crazy meaning there were times I felt like I should be committed (to a mental institution).<br />
Crazy meaning unexpected.<br />
Crazy meaning good!<br />
<br />
It all started the beginning of June. Actually I guess it was the end of May.<br />
My dad used to be on the local Water Authority for the town I grew up in. He still goes to the meetings and still gets involved. Turns out they own a house that they were taking bids to move or tear it down. Out of the blue the one evening, when we were at mom's, we decided to go check it out. We walked around, peeked in windows, talked about it, and suddenly in the space of about 2 weeks, went from not even looking at buying a house, to having our offer accepted, and beginning the journey of owning our own house.<br />
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It's taking some work, painting, new roof, obvious landscaping, &nbsp;but we are excited about the prospect of owning a place of our own.&nbsp;</div>
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Along with that comes change. C is not completely thrilled to leave his hometown where he has lived his whole life. I on the other hand am returning to my hometown where I spent most of my "growing up" years. However, it is the end of living on Main Street. After 23 years of living along main street, I will reside on a "quiet residential side street". Hopefully with lots of beautiful sunsets.</div>
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We spend most of our&nbsp;evenings&nbsp;working at our house, with whatever family members it suits to help. Painting, floor sanding, removing wallpaper, flooring, gutting bathrooms...we hope to move the end of September. We'll see how it comes along.</div>
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<br />mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523685844668458529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303859669760357673.post-27491507871206990072012-06-14T22:56:00.001-04:002012-06-14T22:56:48.484-04:00Firestorm Lisa Tawn BergrenFirestorm follows the life of hotshot boss Reyne Oldre. After a tragic encounter with a major firestorm, Reyne builds her walls, hides behind her fears and becomes a no nonsense kind of girl. She leaves the front lines and becomes a fire specialist. Along the way, Relyne battles her way through all that she encounters. Including Logan McCabe, a smoker jumper, with undeniable charm.<br />
&nbsp;When a second fire threatens all that she holds dear, Reyne needs to choose to give her fears to God, or hide behind her well built walls. <br />I often find myself cringing at what I call the "cheese factor" of Christian Romance, while this book had a few of those moments, growing up as a firefighters daughter, and now the wife a firefighter; this book grabbed me and held on for dear life. <br />Follow Reyne as she battles through fires, life, loss and love. <br /><br />This book was provided free of charge by Waterbrook Multnomah Publishers in exchange for this honest review.mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523685844668458529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303859669760357673.post-24008387253213153642012-05-04T23:51:00.000-04:002012-05-22T23:52:00.259-04:00Dont Judge a Book by it's cover story...*Protected by the dark of night, Jaimie Piper runs. But is anywhere safe when Evil is hunting you?<br />
<br />
She’s just a twelve year-old girl, bumped around between foster homes and relegated to school classes for challenged kids, those lagging in their test scores or with behavioral issues. But her real problem is that she can sense something the other kids can’t—something dark. Something compelling her to run for her life.<br />
<br />
All Crockett Grey wants is to mark the anniversary of his daughter’s death alone.<br />
<br />
But when his student Jaimie comes to him, terrified, her need for protection collides with his grief, and a tangled web of bizarre events sends them both spiraling toward destruction.<br />
<br />
Crockett’s one hope of getting his life back is to uncover the mysterious secrets of Jaimie’s past and her strange gift. It isn’t long before his discoveries lead him to a darker conspiracy, secrets guarded by the highest seat of power in the world—the Vatican.*<br />
<br />
---------------------------------<br />
They say dont' judge a book by it's cover. All too true in this case. From what I read about this book, I was expecting a Peretti-esque book. Not so.<br />
<br />
The first few pages drew me in. I felt the plight of the main characters. However, as it continued I found myself having a harder time getting into it. It proved to me, to be less Christian thriller; and more of a pointed expose of the Catholic faith.<br />
<br />
Perhaps if I had been able to sit down &amp; read it at one shot, I would have been less confused, and more drawn into the story. <br />
<br />
Either way, If you get a chance, give it a shot. Just know that it might not be at all what you expect.<br />
<br />
I received this book for free from WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group for this review.mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523685844668458529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303859669760357673.post-67109964793153575622012-02-29T21:04:00.000-05:002012-02-29T21:04:43.004-05:00Who am I?I must have been standing nearby when the genealogy bug bit my dad. Cause it's in my bloodstream too. <br />
Who am I?<br />
&nbsp;I'm Michele Frey. I was born a Newswanger. I come from Sauders, Zimmermans, Weavers, and Shirks. (The kind that couldn't come up with names other than Joseph &amp; Peter.) In that line, I can trace back, way back. Me, Aaron, George, Esther, Peter, Joseph, Peter, Joseph, Peter and on back thru to when Peter &amp; Maria came across the ocean to America. <br />
&nbsp;Should I choose to go back thru the Sauders, or Weavers. I could do that. And tell me, who in Lancaster Co. doesn't know of the existence of the Zimmerman Book. I come from a long line of talented people. Entrepreneurs, Iinventors, Singers, Engineers. (drill a tunnel thru a Swiss mountain from both ends and meet in the middle kind of engineers.) People who helped out others in need. People I've never met, but their stories I have heard many times over. <br />
&nbsp; I'm related to so many people, &amp; alot of them, I know that I'm related to them. <br />
&nbsp; Not so in my husbands family. <br />
&nbsp; A recent genealogy book re sparked my interest into his family. When following his family back, it stops at his Grandfather. He was a foster child. His last name at birth was Frey, or Fry. We don't know for sure which one. He has 2 brothers. At least that's what we think. The book that I read recently said at 17 he went back to live with his birth parents for a brief time, but left because it wasn't a nice situation. That was new information for us. He died in 2006.<br />
&nbsp; For someone like me who can run into someone at Walmart and possibly be related, and possibly know how we are related, I find this situation frustrating and somewhat sad. <br />
&nbsp; When I run across someone on facebook with the same last name-spelled either way. I search their faces for familial resemblance. I search county websites for news of people with the same last name. I've spent hours searching obituaries for women who would have been born the same year Grandpa's mom was born. I attempt to find places that give free information like birth records. I have news for you. Even free birth records online are not free. I hope that someday. Hopefully sooner rather than later, that I can get some answers. I'm not looking for a big Frey/Fry family hug, or even a reunion. I just want to know where he comes from. <br />
&nbsp; The odds of me even knowing my husband are very slim, had it not been for grandpa's mom giving him up. It's a startling idea. How one choice can absolutely change many lives. Grandpa Frey was raised in a Christian family. Because of that choice, I have a husband with a Christian heritage that cannot be replaced, no matter what the genealogy search uncovers.mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523685844668458529noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303859669760357673.post-48883855038358976712012-01-27T15:48:00.000-05:002012-01-27T15:48:40.196-05:00The Strainer SagaOne upon a time there was a girl who got the brainy idea that winter would be the best time to find a lower priced food strainer on eBay.<br />
That girl was me.<br />
So I began scouring eBay. What I really wanted was one like my Mom has. All metal parts. Built to last.<br />
So, when I came across this gently used beauty with a low opening bid, I went for it.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HB_JVv20vM8/TyMHbezG4zI/AAAAAAAAAfE/xvDXvxIUZm8/s1600/strainer+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="217" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HB_JVv20vM8/TyMHbezG4zI/AAAAAAAAAfE/xvDXvxIUZm8/s320/strainer+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>As I researched further, to my dismay I noticed these beauties go for upwards of $230-$300. Sadness filled me as I gave in and began looking for the less durable, still workable, partially plastic ones.<br />
That's when I found this one...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZcuGM1vPFyc/TyMIfaSrcUI/AAAAAAAAAfM/Sdp4neuyVNk/s1600/strainer+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZcuGM1vPFyc/TyMIfaSrcUI/AAAAAAAAAfM/Sdp4neuyVNk/s320/strainer+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>&nbsp;It was located in my state. It was used once this past summer. So I put in a low bid, decided it was also going to be my final bid. I was still dreaming of finding an all metal steal at a yardsale or goodwill or something.<br />
As I was continuing to scour the web, I came across this one.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WUQy0LLehmY/TyMIjtJ5eXI/AAAAAAAAAfU/tOp1Ebl0_eE/s1600/strainer+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WUQy0LLehmY/TyMIjtJ5eXI/AAAAAAAAAfU/tOp1Ebl0_eE/s320/strainer+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Also in my state, also used once this past summer. Thinking it was the same one I had bid on, I noticed it wasn't showing my bid. Instead of looking in my bidding history, I chalked it up to a glitch in the system and once again entered my low final bid.<br />
That's when bad things started happening.<br />
When I got the email that I was the winning bidder, I was reservedly elated. I won it, I own it, but it's still not exactly what I wanted. Oh well. As long as it works. That's when I noticed the strainer 3 picture was missing the tray. Oh boy.<br />
About this time, the email came in saying I won strainer 2.<br />
I have to admit the first thing that I thought when I realized what I had done was<br />
"What is Curt going to say about this!"<br />
To my amazement, he just snickered and rolled his eyes. Said something about "I'm not helping to do it this summer", and then asked if maybe one of my sisters would want the one.<br />
Put it this way. Had it been reversed, my reaction would have been, shall we say, less rolling eyes at ridiculousness and more steaming from the ears. I have a good man, he teaches me alot.<br />
So I ended up with both strainers, and yes strainer 3 was missing the tray. I contacted the seller, He hadnt realized it, so he refunded 1/2 my money. I'm sure I can find a tray elsewhere on eBay.<br />
Fast forward 2&nbsp; or 3 weeks to yesterday.<br />
"Congratulations you are the winning bidder of ....Strainer 1.<br />
Confusion Moment - Wait, What? <br />
Elation Moment - Yay! It's the one I wanted!<br />
Elation Moment - It was a steal!<br />
Freak out moment - Did I add one too many zeros when I put in that bid?<br />
Freak out moment - Will Curt be just as understanding now that there is a 3rd strainer headed our way?<br />
He was still nice about it, but for some reason I wont be surprised if my ebay password mysteriously changes.<br />
So my dear readers, This is the question.<br />
<br />
Do you think now would be a good time to tell him that the stainer will not attach to our counter-tops or tables, and I need either a new table or a picnic table outside so it will work?<br />
<br />
Yeah, I didn't think so. :)mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523685844668458529noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303859669760357673.post-74975378551363882432011-12-29T17:36:00.000-05:002011-12-29T17:36:57.591-05:00Birth Order<div style="text-align: center;">Anyone want to guess where these guys come in line?&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: center;">Yes, how did you guess.&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: center;">They are the youngest-borns of our family.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Just how did one family manage to get 3 of them?&nbsp; </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d7x7muh6pvs/TvzpKiFKnYI/AAAAAAAAAcw/K0GlaaCpEsU/s1600/IMG_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="177" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d7x7muh6pvs/TvzpKiFKnYI/AAAAAAAAAcw/K0GlaaCpEsU/s400/IMG_01.jpg" width="400" /></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CG9pbEKQeQ8/TvzpR2syqHI/AAAAAAAAAc4/qGsHApNBlSk/s1600/IMG_02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CG9pbEKQeQ8/TvzpR2syqHI/AAAAAAAAAc4/qGsHApNBlSk/s400/IMG_02.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-St7bC4BHn04/TvzpZPC5USI/AAAAAAAAAdA/ICrLdkSP3NY/s1600/IMG_03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-St7bC4BHn04/TvzpZPC5USI/AAAAAAAAAdA/ICrLdkSP3NY/s400/IMG_03.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vlRfwNvCuR0/Tvzpg4N67pI/AAAAAAAAAdI/Ii8_zEjqlZg/s1600/IMG_04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vlRfwNvCuR0/Tvzpg4N67pI/AAAAAAAAAdI/Ii8_zEjqlZg/s400/IMG_04.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T7U8Z79a1K0/TvzpoG8wlMI/AAAAAAAAAdQ/ZfJE4VGuZP4/s1600/IMG_05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T7U8Z79a1K0/TvzpoG8wlMI/AAAAAAAAAdQ/ZfJE4VGuZP4/s400/IMG_05.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;And then you always have those who want to jump ship on their birth order :)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ioaS2yZJVsk/Tvzpvb7q8yI/AAAAAAAAAdY/Xi0sKKilvc0/s1600/IMG_07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ioaS2yZJVsk/Tvzpvb7q8yI/AAAAAAAAAdY/Xi0sKKilvc0/s400/IMG_07.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523685844668458529noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303859669760357673.post-49617793316711982442011-11-26T01:23:00.000-05:002011-11-26T01:23:19.851-05:00We do Thanksgiving..It seems to have become a theme in my life.<br />
<br />
Just doing.<br />
<br />
Maybe because it is expected<br />
Maybe out of mindless habit<br />
Maybe as a way of avoiding thinking.<br />
Whatever the reason, I'm ready for change.(and not the kind Obama promised)<br />
I'm done doing Thanksgiving. I'm done looking at it as an event. That day that I "give thanks"<br />
It needs to become my lifestyle.<br />
While I somewhat revel in the melancholy part of my personality, it does not tend to lend itself to gratefulness.<br />
Did you know you should brush your teeth for a full 3 minutes?<br />
<br />
No this is not a rabbit trail...<br />
<br />
Set the timer, pick up the tooth brush, and get busy. Brushing and making a list of all things you are thankful for. I would suggest a mental list over an audible one. Unless you enjoy cleaning your mirror and all things near your sink. In a week or two, you are sure to notice a difference. Both in your dental health, and the health of your "Thanksgiving attitude"<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Just for Lucy &amp; Duane.<br />
You were represented here at thanksgiving.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pyvTniO0jk8/TtCDeOarKyI/AAAAAAAAAb8/wV8LBKoTqgM/s1600/IMG_0010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pyvTniO0jk8/TtCDeOarKyI/AAAAAAAAAb8/wV8LBKoTqgM/s320/IMG_0010.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523685844668458529noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303859669760357673.post-4598217084931449642011-11-22T21:46:00.000-05:002011-11-22T21:46:46.816-05:00Failed BrakesThat is what I am thankful for today.<br />
<br />
My husband called me when I had just pulled into work. Letting me know that tonight's plans would have to change. When he pulled into the driveway at his work, the brakes on his truck gave out.<br />
My first question was if he was okay.&nbsp;<br />
Yes he is fine.<br />
My next thought was to breath a grateful prayer.<br />
Not only for his safety this morning, but for the safety this past weekend. We were at the cabin. In that truck.<br />
Over the mountains<br />
On hairpin turns<br />
Two hours there,<br />
Two hours home.<br />
Turnpike, tons of cars, moderately heavy traffic.<br />
And here we are safe &amp; sound.<br />
Tonight when he came home from work, I hugged him a little tighter, and once again breathed a prayer of thankfulness<br />
For Safety<br />
For failed brakes, that remind me that I serve a mighty God.mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523685844668458529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303859669760357673.post-74539576113751264492011-11-08T17:00:00.000-05:002011-11-08T17:00:34.241-05:003 years<div style="text-align: center;">Three years ago...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9W1fEzT_Njg/Trmk-eWXLtI/AAAAAAAAAZU/1g9DINxDxsE/s1600/new048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9W1fEzT_Njg/Trmk-eWXLtI/AAAAAAAAAZU/1g9DINxDxsE/s640/new048.jpg" width="425" /></a></div>mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523685844668458529noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303859669760357673.post-69113799787549271252011-11-07T18:24:00.001-05:002011-11-07T18:26:00.248-05:00Bug on the WindsheildYes, it had been one of those days.<br />
I woke up in the morning right on time. Twelve hours -give or take- from when I had fallen asleep. I wasn't feeling the greatest the night before, and truth be told those 12 hours didn't do much to improve the way I felt.<br />
My contacts were all dried out from sleeping with them in.<br />
I got my breakfast, packed my lunch &amp; headed to work.<br />
Despite leaving in plenty of time, after getting behind a tractor, unable to pass; I punched in at 7:32.<br />
It was a long day.<br />
Stress of trying to get all things on my list done.<br />
Added pressure of last minute things to get done.<br />
Till I looked at the clock &amp; realized it was 5:00, and past time for me to be headed home; I was feeling the need for another 12 hour night.<br />
Driving home i was making mental lists of all i needed to do in the evening before being able to get some sleep. I felt ever so much like a bug, and my mental list combined with my day was the windshield coming at me at 45 mph.<br />
I was in stop &amp; go traffic. I like that even less than following tractors. At one of the "stop" times, i saw movement in the top right corner of my windshield. And there was a little bug crawling across my windshield. I actually smiled at the irony of my previous thoughts of feeling like a bug splattered on a windshield.<br />
I watched as he crawled ever so slowly. His antennae waving in the air. Antennae that look to be only ever so slightly attached to his body. I began to marvel at my Creator's handiwork. Thinking about the bug &amp; how delicately he was designed, and God taking care of his every need.<br />
The thought of God taking care of me, and knowing how many hairs are on my head, really hit home for the first time. Or at least in a way that I never thought of before.<br />
I am a "make my world work" type of person. I have plans, I figure out what I need to do to get the results I expect. When my world doesn't work, I get stressed, I get frustrated, and often times to my shame, I only then cry out to God.<br />
Even then it is "Lord, help me make this work" not "Lord here is the situation, I give it to You"<br />
Amazing how sometimes all it takes is something like a bug on the windshield for God to get your attention.mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523685844668458529noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303859669760357673.post-16749362747078356432011-09-29T21:39:00.000-04:002011-09-30T08:41:13.949-04:00Art classI clearly remember the third grade.&nbsp; I was sitting at my desk working on history homework. Art class had just finished and there was time left to do some homework before the end of the day. I raised my hand, and asked the teacher - "Why can't we have art class everyday?" In my mind it was a valid question. We had history every day- why not art? She smiled that "oh-silly little child" smile, and said: Because if we only did art what would you do when you get older? I smartly replied "be a mom".&nbsp; The bell rang &amp; school was over for the day.<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Fast forward quite a few years &amp; here I am. While I am deeply grateful for my education in other subjects than art; (In fact I do quite like history) I still wish every day was art class. <br />
As a child I had a very interesting imagination. Picking all kinds of weeds &amp; tossing them together to make salad to serve from my McDonald's drive thru window. (the playhouse window) The salad generally got served with a mud burger and fries (twigs). I colored shapes on a piece of paper and dumped moms olive oil it so it would become transparent like a stained glass window. And then came the day when mom said I could use her sewing machine. Bits and pieces of scraps turned to misshapen pieces of doll or barbie clothes. I was in heaven.<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; I still wish it was Art class every day. It's not. I'm not a mom yet, so those things I learned in school do come in handy.<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp; I still get my craft fix as often as I can. My newest venture is opening my own <a href="http://www.americanmolly.etsy.com/">etsy shop</a>. Right now I have some fabric flower headbands in it, but I also have some hair ties &amp; pins that aren't listed. I dream of a shop full of little clothes and shoes, but for now its headbands. <br />
&nbsp; The other way I let out my inner artist ( I say that word very loosely!) is photography. I love it. I take pictures in my head even when I don't have my camera. There is just something about creating, and capturing that perfect moment, that has a profound grip on my heart. <br />
So, while it's not art class every day all day for me. It's something I'm holding on to.mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523685844668458529noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303859669760357673.post-47372859427582629082011-09-19T22:37:00.001-04:002011-09-20T13:09:09.438-04:00The Maine Event<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9mICPNhxFaA/Tni3GUJz05I/AAAAAAAAAWE/-mWpyWbC1tQ/s1600/IMG_0827.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9mICPNhxFaA/Tni3GUJz05I/AAAAAAAAAWE/-mWpyWbC1tQ/s320/IMG_0827.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Saturday morning sunrise</td></tr>
</tbody></table>&nbsp;&nbsp; Anticipation is half the fun. Or so they say. It's been looked forward to for almost a year. It's been dreamed of, thought out, planned. Now it has already been here &amp; it's over...But what a wonderful time it was. ;)<br />
&nbsp; We left in the early hours of Saturday morning (9/10) and headed out on our week long adventure to Maine. We went with friends of ours Lisa &amp; Brent &amp; their son William. We filled our week with quaint towns, lighthouses, hiking, beach-combing, good food, games, great memories, and lots of pictures. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--r3mLWDcU9I/Tni30gustPI/AAAAAAAAAWI/c1v7M7eb5CI/s1600/IMG_0858.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--r3mLWDcU9I/Tni30gustPI/AAAAAAAAAWI/c1v7M7eb5CI/s400/IMG_0858.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the Portland Head Light</td></tr>
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<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E1cAs5eAGQY/Tni66tEuZ7I/AAAAAAAAAWQ/Im4IufcbHKU/s1600/IMG_0918.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E1cAs5eAGQY/Tni66tEuZ7I/AAAAAAAAAWQ/Im4IufcbHKU/s320/IMG_0918.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Goddard Mansion at Williams State Park in Portland</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FUbeDe0AcYw/Tni74RqYdlI/AAAAAAAAAWc/YM04hZBiCig/s1600/IMG_1156.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FUbeDe0AcYw/Tni74RqYdlI/AAAAAAAAAWc/YM04hZBiCig/s320/IMG_1156.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Weathered Building Scrumptious-ness</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T0YNpsDR904/Tni7hTOH1SI/AAAAAAAAAWY/WN3Jz2gA5jY/s1600/IMG_1141.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T0YNpsDR904/Tni7hTOH1SI/AAAAAAAAAWY/WN3Jz2gA5jY/s320/IMG_1141.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our attempt at Pasta &amp; Fresh Mussels</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_OIlDoa5jQk/Tni7KjU8ZCI/AAAAAAAAAWU/WJaJfLMKh6c/s1600/IMG_0971.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_OIlDoa5jQk/Tni7KjU8ZCI/AAAAAAAAAWU/WJaJfLMKh6c/s640/IMG_0971.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lovely sunset views from the back yard.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hGg43AXC6vY/Tni8NN8yAqI/AAAAAAAAAWg/HnUid--JdZE/s1600/IMG_1293.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hGg43AXC6vY/Tni8NN8yAqI/AAAAAAAAAWg/HnUid--JdZE/s640/IMG_1293.JPG" width="425" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">boats - water - happiness</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sgFR1-jddUw/Tni8kYzbQ3I/AAAAAAAAAWk/phoPKvoHnD0/s1600/IMG_1365.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sgFR1-jddUw/Tni8kYzbQ3I/AAAAAAAAAWk/phoPKvoHnD0/s400/IMG_1365.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">small town bakery</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_Nw6NljrQMA/Tni87uagz-I/AAAAAAAAAWo/MNxHT7-pRmM/s1600/IMG_1399.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_Nw6NljrQMA/Tni87uagz-I/AAAAAAAAAWo/MNxHT7-pRmM/s640/IMG_1399.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pemaquid Point Lighthouse. The one on the Maine State Quarter</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cjcJrNlcZK4/Tni9KmVOJGI/AAAAAAAAAWs/Nd5YA1pD7wk/s1600/IMG_1409.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cjcJrNlcZK4/Tni9KmVOJGI/AAAAAAAAAWs/Nd5YA1pD7wk/s320/IMG_1409.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Handsome husband</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p5ojiBhttJs/Tni9dmps4hI/AAAAAAAAAWw/lzUOzT68w_M/s1600/IMG_1559.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p5ojiBhttJs/Tni9dmps4hI/AAAAAAAAAWw/lzUOzT68w_M/s320/IMG_1559.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cLF8zN3E4Qg/Tni9uwk0DQI/AAAAAAAAAW0/6sl41G61V8I/s1600/IMG_1674.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cLF8zN3E4Qg/Tni9uwk0DQI/AAAAAAAAAW0/6sl41G61V8I/s320/IMG_1674.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Went to the docks to get some "lobstah" for supper the one night.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kWSZ1x7sMss/Tni-kuffdNI/AAAAAAAAAW8/H2RZNOSnBJw/s1600/IMG_1799.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kWSZ1x7sMss/Tni-kuffdNI/AAAAAAAAAW8/H2RZNOSnBJw/s320/IMG_1799.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">our house</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GcLZyrfPi1E/Tni-BAcA2zI/AAAAAAAAAW4/lBJ_th4hLK4/s1600/IMG_1750.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GcLZyrfPi1E/Tni-BAcA2zI/AAAAAAAAAW4/lBJ_th4hLK4/s640/IMG_1750.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Last Maine Sunset</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The boot at L.L. Bean</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>&nbsp;We had an absolutely amazing time. A week that I will never forget. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523685844668458529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303859669760357673.post-86519053595863985522011-08-13T16:09:00.000-04:002011-08-13T16:09:55.595-04:00Hello, my name is Susie Housewife, & I'm a multi-taskerYou know those days when you feel pretty good about yourself? Well, today just might be one of them.<br />
I slept in. (dont worry, that wasn't part of the multitasking)<br />
The kind of sleeping in where you sleep solid. Not the listen-to-the-neighbor-mow-his-yard, or the-dog-barking-loudly, but I'm still sleeping, kind of sleep.<br />
Then, I ate breakfast. A healthy bowl of Quaker oats with raw milk. And yes, the cereal was healthy, cause Bob Harper eats it. <br />
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Now, on to the Susie Housewife part. I would say Donna Reed, but what I had for lunch (cold pizza) puts me below her league. I'm pretty sure. Plus she would do it in heels &amp; pearls instead of twisted up bed-head, and bare feet.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>&nbsp;<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cq2DGomm1GM/TkbOM3CtwzI/AAAAAAAAAVk/Yr62u9rBGqc/s1600/IMG_0163.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZU5ObGJEtpY/TkbTIQUXCsI/AAAAAAAAAV0/o3gTO9C9xA4/s1600/IMG_0209.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZU5ObGJEtpY/TkbTIQUXCsI/AAAAAAAAAV0/o3gTO9C9xA4/s200/IMG_0209.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marinara Sauce</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Like I said. Susie Housewife. After breakfast I started Marinara Sauce to can. I also started the washer. I currently have my eye on the canner, wherein sits 20-some pints of sauce, with more next to it waiting to go in. plus, i was working on these little guys...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eggplant headband</td></tr>
</tbody></table>They are going to single-handedly (along with many other that look very much like them) get me &amp; C to Ireland for an anniversary trip. Not saying which anniversary. Might be the 5th, or it might be the 50th. We're not sure yet. Regardless of if they sell or not., It is so good to be able to <span style="color: purple; font-family: &quot;Helvetica Neue&quot;,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">create</span>.<br />
I guess thats what canning is too. If you want to call it that.<br />
Really though I think this is pretty too. And it will taste good later on. Pretty &amp; functional &amp; I'm all about that! ;)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last weeks peaches.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523685844668458529noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303859669760357673.post-24029916243009246502011-07-25T00:45:00.000-04:002011-07-25T00:45:40.046-04:00Bedtime Prayers...Now I lay me down to sleep,<br />
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.<br />
If I snore while my wife's awake.<br />
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">&nbsp;I pray the Lord, dont let my life be at stake.</div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WZDy8CqeeUw/Tizz-QpjjfI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/H8LrGRRcluo/s1600/IMG_0345e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="158" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WZDy8CqeeUw/Tizz-QpjjfI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/H8LrGRRcluo/s200/IMG_0345e.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
This should be C's prayer tonight...<br />
<br />
I'm not particularly mad or annoyed at him. At least I hadn't been. He has this thing he does. You know "I'm not even really tired" then head hits pillow &amp; he's asleep before I even finish brushing my teeth. And belive me I am not the kind of&nbsp; stand-in-front-of-the-sink-forever-brushing-your-teeth type of girl.<br />
&nbsp;I am however the type of girl that lays in bed thinking of ways she could wake up her husband.<br />
I feel like I'm 12 again. I feel like i did every Sunday afternoon when my sister decided to take a nap &amp; I didn't want to. I would whine &amp; complain that this is the only time I get to hang out with her &amp; try to put her on a guilt trip. (yeah I did that at 12)<br />
That's how I feel.<br />
If I cant sleep why should he.<br />
So my list of ways to wake him....<br />
<ul><li>I'll start out subtle. Lay on my back with my knees bent &amp; let them "fall over" on him in my sleep....</li>
</ul><ul><li>Flail my arms, moan &amp; groan, pretending I am having a nightmare till he wakes up &amp; "wake's me" from my horrible dream.</li>
</ul><ul><li>Use my cell phone to call the house phone. Answer the house phone &amp; say "I think you have the wrong number" </li>
</ul><ul><li>Scream at the top of my lungs, then try to convince him he was dreaming.</li>
</ul><ul><li>Point the laser beam out the window at the dog pen to make Jack bark. Hop back in bed, &amp; convince Curt to go out &amp; see what his problem is. Turn off the laser before Curt gets out there.</li>
</ul><ul><li>Change the time on the clock, make the alarm go off &amp; try to convince him it really is morning, it's just dark cause there is a thunderstorm brewing</li>
</ul><ul><li>Repeat number two, adding in some kicking &amp; punching.</li>
</ul><ul><li>Turn his pager up the whole way &amp; call in an emotional problem at our address. Cause that's what is gonna happen if I cant sleep soon!</li>
</ul><br />
And tell me why is it when I finally roll the whole way around &amp; finally get comfortable, that he feels the urge to interrupt his snoring, roll on his side &amp; breath on me?<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Disclaimer: I do not have homicidal tendencies,&nbsp; am not in the practice of making crank 911 calls,, &amp; I do love my husband dearly :)</span>mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523685844668458529noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303859669760357673.post-78753837748617011362011-06-22T02:19:00.000-04:002011-06-22T02:19:29.275-04:00Is it strange...Is it strange that I am particularly aware of my arm hair when it storms? They say before you get struck by lightning the hair on your arms stands up.Yes its storming, &amp; yes I hate storms.<br />
Something woke me up. I'm not sure what exactly, but as I was drifting back to sleep, I saw it lightning....through my eyelids. So now I'm awake.<br />
Our bedroom basically has two walls of windows, so yeah it lights up in here. It's really quiet outside. I hear the jangle of Jack's dog license. I guess the stillness woke him up too.<br />
My husband however is preparing wood for this coming winter. It's apparently gonna be a long cold one.<br />
Every time it lightnings it illuminates the ceiling fan. For some reason it looks kinda creepy, &amp; if I let my imagination go, I'll be up all night squeezing the life out of a&nbsp; meat tenderizer to use as protection from the mass murderer that is outside my deck doors.<br />
Its starting to rain.<br />
I can hear it on the tin roof of the garage.<br />
I'm suddenly rethinking the placement of our pool only a couple yards from our bedroom. Doesn't lightning strike water faster?<br />
Its in an all out pour now.<br />
<i>How's this for a middle of the night weather report?</i><br />
I guess the storms not too bad. I haven't woken C up yet. I'm liking the idea of blogging on the laptop in a pitch black room during a thunderstorm. The screen is pretty blinding. Makes me not see the lightning.<br />
Storms are such a mixed thing for me.<br />
I hate thunderstorms. They scare me. Probably cause I'm too worried about my hair standing on end. Maybe because lightning can cause fires, and fire scares me ever since I was a little girl.<br />
Childhood is so intriguing.<br />
So many misconceptions turn into lasting fears.<br />
A strike started a barn fire when I was little. My dad was a fireman. He was gone most the night. I've hated storms ever since, that's probably when I started hating fires too. I used to have recurring dreams that as punishment i had to sit on a chair while my mom was working at the desk. There would be fire creeping towards me (from a log that fell from the wood stove) and she would make me sit there as it crept closer &amp; closer.&nbsp; <br />
My mom is not mean, I don't remember actually having to sit in that chair as punishment, but I did hate the wood stove for as long as I can remember. If I was home alone, the stove would go out and I would freeze before even thinking of putting more wood in it.<br />
Sometimes misconceptions are placed in our childhood minds by others.<br />
One of my friends was really into hockey when he was little. His dad told him that the lightning was when God scored a shot, &amp; the thunder was all the angels applauding. He also was told that God was rearranging the living room furniture. Guess God has lots of sofas cause its really rumbling.<br />
On the other side of hating storms...<br />
They also amaze me. I can just see God reaching out and touching the sky and lightning streaking away from his touch. Kinda like over-sized static electricity when I touch the metal file cabinet at work. When I'm not alone, or awoken from sleep.<br />
Speaking of waking up, C just rolled over and mumbled something about using black powder to kill a black bear and left out a little chortle. Think it's safe to say he's not waking up anytime soon.<br />
Think I'll try to put in my earbuds and call it a night...or whatever time it is...mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523685844668458529noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303859669760357673.post-61880009537790051022011-06-05T18:59:00.000-04:002011-06-05T18:59:53.845-04:00In no certain order...Things that annoy me, disturb me, or&nbsp;generally amuse me...<br />
<br />
<br />
1. People who do a year's worth of banking at the drive thru. It is a drive THRU not a park &amp; STAY<br />
2. Registration stickers on all 4 corners of a liscense plate. If they were meant to be in all 4 corners, there would be an indentation on all 4 corners.<br />
3. Following a truck, or being followed by a truck.<br />
4. People who leave their turn signals on when they have no intention of turning <br />
5. Meeting people I know when I am shopping. Not because I dont like the people, just because it feels weird to have little half conversations in the middle of shopping.<br />
6. Backseat drivers. When I'm driving or even if I am a passenger.<br />
7.The fact that I am simply incapable of using a hot glue gun without burning my fingers.<br />
8. Matching socks. I'm gonna throw out all my socks &amp; buy ones that are all the same brand.<br />
9.Unflushed public toilets<br />
10. Putting something somewhere so you'll know where it is when you need it, &amp; then forgeting where you put it.<br />
11. The fact that my husband can fall asleep the moment his head hits the pillow.<br />
12. When you get disconnected mid phone conversation. Do you call them or wait till they call you?<br />
13. Bluetooth headsets - I just cant get used to people walking around in the store&nbsp;looking like they are talking to themselves<br />
14. "floppy fish" handshakes. <br />
15. The scan button on the radio/constantly flipping channels<br />
16. comb-overs<br />
17. mocking birds that copy car alarms <br />
18. people that dominate conversations &amp; can always make it pertain to 1 certain topic<br />
19. roadkill<br />
20. talking, laughing, or walking in one's sleepmhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523685844668458529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303859669760357673.post-23784272347426918432011-05-22T00:01:00.000-04:002011-05-22T00:37:58.017-04:00It's May 22nd...and the world is still here. <br />
No rapture. Not that I was expecting it at 6pm as Mr Harold Camping predicted.<br />
The world didnt end; but&nbsp;someone's world ended today.<br />
Someone died today. <br />
Actually about 154,138 someones died today. Their world ended. Were they ready?<br />
So maybe like me you weren't looking for Christ to return at 6pm, but are you <em>looking</em> for Him to return?<br />
He's coming back. <br />
Not at 6pm on May 21 2001, but maybe May 22,2011. Or maybe it wont be for another 100 years. <br />
We dont know when, but it will happen. <br />
Ready or not. He's coming.mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523685844668458529noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303859669760357673.post-57011693518558917062011-04-11T11:45:00.000-04:002011-04-11T14:16:12.321-04:00I have not yet begun to fight...His name was John Paul<br />
He had two first names - that always intrigues me<br />
He was born in Scotland<br />
There is something I love about the Scottish brogue<br />
He deserted the slave trade industry because it disgusted him<br />
He didn't let the money mold his morals<br />
When a case of yellow fever claimed the lives of both the ship captain &amp; the second in command, he stepped up.<br />
He took on the responsibility.<br />
Somewhere along the way, he added a last name of Jones.<br />
<br />
And although the above things would give me plenty of reason to think he's pretty cool, that is not what I like about him. <br />
<br />
But despite the good, the bad or the ugly, we remember him for something else.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><i><b>"I have not yet begun to fight" </b></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">These words were said in the midst of battle when a British sailor was taunting him to surrender. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Those words I decided need to be my creed. So many people; me as well. We fight, but not for the right things.&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: left;">We fight&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: left;">-out of selfishness.&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: left;">-because we think our way is right &amp; their way is wrong.</div><div style="text-align: left;">-to hide the fact that we are really fighting ourselves </div><div style="text-align: left;">-just for the sake of fighting </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">But I want to fight</div><div style="text-align: left;">-for relationships</div><div style="text-align: left;">-against injustice </div><div style="text-align: left;">-for the lost soul</div><div style="text-align: left;">-against the power of Satan </div><div style="text-align: left;">-for the person who has no voice</div><div style="text-align: left;">-for what is right.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">When everyone else thinks it would be reasonable to give up. I want to say "I have not yet begun to fight" When all within us &amp; without is begging us to give up, taunting us that it's not worth it; I want to fight. And I want to fight strong. Never giving up. Not being content to sit back when the there is a fight worth fighting. But to be there full force. Fighting for the right thing, fighting <i><u>against</u></i> self.</div><i><b><span style="font-family: &quot;Helvetica Neue&quot;,Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></b></i><span class="bodybold"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523685844668458529noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303859669760357673.post-78628363596070971172011-03-11T11:35:00.002-05:002011-03-11T16:10:49.237-05:00Windshield Wiper JudgeynessSo, I realize this is the internet, &amp; I'm about to share this with the world, but I think I'm OK with that.<br />
I have this fear of judgment that I am met with every time it rains. It is one of my insecurities that I am working through. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-qNuOpTNGdM8/TXqOsZaIZQI/AAAAAAAAARw/nVdwUS6qOVU/s1600/windshield-wipers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-qNuOpTNGdM8/TXqOsZaIZQI/AAAAAAAAARw/nVdwUS6qOVU/s320/windshield-wipers.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Every time I go away when it rains I am faced with how fast to run my windshield wipers. If I run them too slow, I can't see, but if I run them faster I always wonder if people look at me like I'm some obsessively crazed windshield wiper maniac.<br />
I think I care more what other people think of me when I'm driving than I do at any other time. I distinctly remember a rainy day about 1 1/2 years ago. My car was in the shop for a face-lift, and the rental I had was a Mazda 5.<br />
<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Now for those of you, who haven't a clue what a vehicle is<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; unless you own it or aspire to own it; A Mazda 5 is a cross<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; between a very long car and a very short mini van. You<br />
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; know you have "toy" poodles? This is a "toy" mini van. <br />
<br />
Well, it was on that rainy day that I was at a red light &amp; realized that this van has a windshield wiper for the back window. I promptly turned it on, &amp; after a lengthy giggle fit, turned it back off wondering if it looks as much like a dog wagging it's tail to the people in line behind me, as it did to me. <br />
<br />
As I said, I am working through it. I have reached the point that I can now see that the reason I feel judged is because I "Windshield wiper judge" others that are on the road.&nbsp; You know... there is always that one person coming the other way in a light sprinkling of rain that has their wipers going to the beat of <i>Flight of the Bumblebee.</i><br />
<br />
Like I said...I'm working on it. Lucky for me It's not raining today. It will be a judge free drive home :)<i> </i>mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523685844668458529noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6303859669760357673.post-29071405175492838812011-02-25T22:14:00.001-05:002011-02-25T22:19:28.906-05:00Sometimes...Sometimes I wish I could go back...<br />
*To the days when my friends &amp; I could entertain ourselves for several hours at walmart &amp; leave without buying anything but gum.<br />
*To the days when we bought cakes to celebrate Friday nights off.<br />
*To the days where we tried to see how many girls fit in a bus bathroom...and a telephone booth.<br />
*To the days where the setting summer sun only marked the beginning of a wonderful time.<br />
*To the days of driving to roxburry listening to Rogers &amp; Hammerstein soundtrack of Sound of Music, &amp; pretending our stuffed animals were being stalked<br />
*To the days of CD Players &amp; large headphones with lots of splitters so we could all listen to the music together. <br />
*To the days we (mostly me) would stand defiantly with my face in the wind. <em>(I vaguely think this had something to do with lyrics from a song...maybe from Paul Overstreet or Midsouth?)</em><br />
*To the days of corny inside jokes that sent us into gales of laughter. Inside jokes that don't even mean anything anymore.<br />
*To the days when we passed Cd's around like prized possessions - cause they were.<br />
*To the days of 6 girls sleeping sideways on a bed just so we could room together at the cabin. <br />
*To the days where we talked &amp; laughed till we cried...<br />
*To the days where the best thing was a new roll of film &amp; time with my friends.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-Lqj24f8yn-s/TWhwxuwDIYI/AAAAAAAAARs/owwpmBl3P8Q/s1600/IMG_1638.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" l6="true" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-Lqj24f8yn-s/TWhwxuwDIYI/AAAAAAAAARs/owwpmBl3P8Q/s320/IMG_1638.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Sometimes I wish I could go back...But only sometimes.<br />
<br />
<u><em><strong>*Disclaimer: This post has a judgement free zone wrapped around it....I realize one or more of these memories may display things that are no longer a part of my character :)</strong></em></u>mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14523685844668458529noreply@blogger.com1